The Sorting Ceremony of 1993
by Arameyy
Summary: Harry knew he was Magical Britain's hero, but he had never guessed just how far their hero worship would extend. This Sorting Ceremony would certainly be one to remember. Humor, Semi-AU, One-Shot.


The first warning sign that there would be something unusual about the Sorting Ceremony of 1993 was the quantity of children. As the 11-year-olds filed into the Great Hall, whispers could be heard at all four tables about just how many of them there were. The line seemed to go on forever; Professor McGonagall began to direct them into a second row by the Sorting Hat when it became clear that there was no way they could squeeze into one. Few people recognized this as something significant; the only conversation related to it were muttered complaints between friends about how long they would have to wait for the Sorting to finish and the feast to start.

The second warning sign was the grim set to Minerva McGonagall's face as she beheld the alphabetical list of names in front of her. Not many noticed her expression, either because it was out of view or because they did not care. Of the small number of people who did see her expression, most dismissed it as simply a response to the first warning sign, certain that she had complaints similar to their own. She would have to wait until after the Sorting to eat just like them, after all.

The third warning sign came from the first years themselves. Anyone who had seen a Sorting before expected the usual emotions: fear, anxiety, a muted excitement. With this in mind, they paid little attention to this batch of first years in particular, and thus never noticed the quirk in their behavior. For while the typical sentiments were present, this year's new students held expressions of confusion as they whispered amongst themselves.

Having ignored or simply neglected to see these warning signs, nobody in the Great Hall was prepared for what was to come save two people: Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster himself.

The atmosphere of the main student body in the Great Hall just before the first name was announced was rather typical: a mixture of excitement from those who held personal stakes in the Sorting, exasperation from the hungrier students, disinterest from those who didn't care about another year's worth of names and houses.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and read out the first name.

"Atwood, Harriet."

A willowy, narrow-faced girl stepped out of the line and stumbled towards the stool. She sat down and placed the Sorting Hat over her head. After a few seconds, it called out "SLYTHERIN!"

All very ordinary.

"Brindle, David."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Brocklehurst, Harold."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The first point of no return had been passed.

Nobody noticed.

"Bull, Margaret."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Cairns, Harry."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

And then, looking like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, McGonagall sighed quietly and called out the next name: "Cairns, Harriet."

"RAVENCLAW!"

At this point, the rest of the Great Hall had caught on. Whispers and giggles were passed between the various students who had noticed the naming trend. Up at the teachers' table, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling merrily, the slightest hint of a grin on his face, while Snape's face was wrinkling as if he had just smelled something unpleasant.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry was sharing an incredulous look with Ron. "Can you believe—" he started, before being shushed by Hermione.

"Cook, Harry."

"RAVENCLAW!"

And thus the Sorting continued. By the time McGonagall reached the H names, all semblance of order was gone from the Great Hall. Conversation at the various tables had reached the point that McGonagall had cast a minor voice amplification spell on herself, and between names she was sending pleading glances at Dumbledore. Never before had a silencing charm been used on the students during a Sorting, but she was almost hoping that tradition could be broken.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Hermione had given up on trying to keep people quiet, realizing the futility of her actions, and so the Golden Trio had started up their own conversation.

Ron was guffawing at every new variation of Harry that stepped up to be Sorted, while Harry was feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He knew that half the Great Hall was turning to stare at him every few moments in between making jokes at the expense of the first years. He pitied the poor kids; the Sorting was stressful enough without all the upper years making fun of you, so when "Harrison, Harrison" nervously walked by the Gryffindor table, looking for a seat, Harry scooted over to make room for him on his right.

"Blimey, look at Snape!" Ron exclaimed loudly, pointing at the high table.

A glance in that direction revealed that he looked one Harry short of a homicidal rampage. The Potions Master's face was positively livid as "Horn, Harry-James" was sorted into Slytherin. Harry began to fear for the poor firstie's continued wellbeing.

Meanwhile, Hermione was ignoring the conversation. Instead, she was deep in thought, her brow scrunched up, muttering to herself. "Why this year…?"

The Sorting continued.

It wasn't until "Moon, Harrietta" before the muggleborn's eyes suddenly brightened in an apparent epiphany. "Harry," she eagerly whispered, "The oldest of these students were born in 1981!" And then Harry understood: In the joyous frenzy after his defeat of Voldemort, parents began to honor their 'saviour' by _naming their children_ after him."

By this point, at least forty names in, the novelty had worn off, and most of the Great Hall had settled down. Any conversations had moved down to whispers, and few people did more than clap enough to be polite whenever someone was Sorted into their house. Most expressions had gone from mirthful to some combination of bored, tired, or hungry, though Snape's eye still twitched any time a name reminiscent of Harry was called.

At long last, however, the Sorting was complete. McGonagall, looking like she had aged a decade, rolled up her parchment, Vanished the stool, and slowly walked out with the Sorting Hat.

The final count, out of more than sixty new students, was fourteen Harrys, six Harolds, five Harriets, two Harriettas, two Harrisons, one Harry-James, and a Hadrian.

Harry hoped none of them minded going by their last names.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Yes, I know I haven't posted anything in a year. I haven't been writing, really - I was cleaning out my old computer and found this, almost entirely written, from a few years back, then spent 20 minutes finishing this and cleaning it up. Hope you guys enjoy, and I have no idea when I'll post anything else.

-The Thunder Alchemist


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